


I Love Everybody Because I Love You

by Anonymous



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Ancient Roman Religion & Lore
Genre: F/F, I did this for a school project, ancient greece but cupid has a blog, forbidden love is a very queer trope, genderbent cupid, i'm not sure what time period it's set in, kinda like, yes i went out of my way to make it queer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24440920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A semi-modern, queer, femme-centric retelling of the tale of Cupid and Psyche, specifically based on Apuleius' "The Golden Ass" (yes, that is the real name, and no it isn't why I chose this to base my work off) (I totally would though). Because being lonely and upset even when men worship your beauty speaks to my gay sensibilities.
Relationships: Cupid/Psyche
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous





	I Love Everybody Because I Love You

**PSYCHE**

_ “Cover up a bit, you don’t want the boys getting distracted.” _

_ “What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a place like this?” _

_ “You’re not like other girls.” _

Not every day, but enough of them. Walking down the street. At school. In pubs. Alone. In a group.

Even while walking to the markets with her father.

“Hey beautiful, you should smile.” 

Psyche flips the stranger the bird and keeps walking, stony faced. He just laughs.

“Oh, honey, come on, it’s just a compliment,” her father says, reaching over to push Psyche’s hand down. “And he’s not wrong. You could stand to treat men a little better. Y’know, both your sisters had married by your age.”

“I’m not like them, father.”

“Perhaps you should be. You’re beautiful enough; you could have any man you wanted. They admire you! I’ve heard some call you the second coming of Venus.”   
  


It takes a lot to not roll her eyes. “They don’t admire me. They admire my looks.”

“What’s the difference?”

_ Oh, my poor mother, _ she thinks.  _ How wretched, to be stuck with a husband like this. _

  
  


**CUPID**

She’s out at night, spreading her magic. She’s been told she’s got a bit of a homewrecker reputation, but that’s not what she’s about, no. Her goal has never been to wreck anything. It’s to spread  _ love _ . 

“A relationship shouldn’t be about just getting through,” she says to a crying girl in a club bathroom. “You should feel special. Excited.  _ Loved. _ It isn’t your job to hold on to a man you have no fondness for, no matter how kindly he treats you. Follow your passion, sweetness.”

Cupid isn’t evil, not even a little. She sows the seeds for self love, self awareness, and following one’s heart. She lets people know their worth. It’s not  _ her _ fault people start in situations where they’re committed to the opposite; sitting in discomfort, desperately repressing their feelings that  _ this isn’t who they’re meant to be _ . And sure, maybe in some contrary way she does appreciate how people seemingly overnight reject the roles they were raised into in order to become who they want to be--something about how this wreaks havoc with their old conservative parents’ poor little minds. But really, it’s more important to Cupid that people feel able to be who they are.

Not every case is a dirty bathroom conversation. Sometimes  _ it  _ is just that; a not-really-chance encounter while she’s out looking to spread her little nuggets of wisdom and support. A pep talk. Some assurance.

Sometimes it’s just smiling, in all her piercings and bright pink haired glory at the little kids she sees out and about. It fuels her heart when she sees a pair of teenagers point her out to one another and smile, holding hands.

She runs an anonymous LGBT+ blog where she takes questions from anyone and everyone, and offers advice.  _ If that's how you feel, go for it. Shoot your shot! If you need help figuring yourself out, I’m here for you. You’re valuable even if you don’t fit every role others wish you would. You deserve to be happy. You are  _ going  _ to be happy. _ Little sparks of love magic fly with every message. 

For all this effort, there’s one woman who doesn’t seem to get it. Cupid’s own mother, Venus, goddess of beauty. She’s not hateful, exactly. Just painfully old fashioned, a true stickler for the good old days when queer people had to repress who they are... She’s been around a while, and unlike Cupid, isn’t prone to ruffling any feathers.

“Cupid, darling?” Venus asks one evening. “You know this little social hobby of yours? Wherein you destroy people’s perfectly good relationships and lives?”

“That felt loaded,” Cupid says. “I don’t  _ destroy _ anything. I mean, I  _ challenge  _ heteropatriarchal and monogamous ideals, but--”

“Yes, sure. If you say so. I have a task for you.”

  
  


**PSYCHE**

“Dad, this is ridiculous.”

He’s at the door putting on his coat, and Psyche does  _ not _ like where he plans on going.

“It isn’t ridiculous. There  _ must _ be some god or goddess out there with something against you. There’s not another way to explain this. We need to seek divine authority.”

_ This  _ being Psyche’s lack of a husband. 

“Men don’t like to be told I’m more than something to look at.” It’s under her breath enough that her father can’t discern the words, but hearing the tone he gives her a stern look. 

“You’re not to change my mind, Psyche. You are too old and too beautiful to have not been asked for your hand.”

He leaves. 

Psyche had always had this feeling that she’d never marry-- it never seemed appealing, and she was too fiercely independent to want to subject herself to being stuck with some man for the rest of her life. She knew, though, that it was what her parents wanted for her. Not in any malicious way; they just couldn’t picture any happy life different to the one they’d led. Psyche couldn’t picture any happy life if hers was forced to be the same.

When her father returned, he didn’t seem happy. He didn’t even seem hopeful.

He’d asked where to find her a husband, and the oracle had told him to bring her, prepared for a deadly wedding, to a high mountain’s summit, but hope for no mortal born son in law; just a flying, mischievous nuisance, feared even by Jupiter, spreading chaos and change all the way. 

She didn’t know how to feel about this. There is no going against the gods, and the oracles are the next closest thing, so no matter what, some form of this must come to pass. She should feel repulsed, disgusted, at least a tiny bit put off. Truthfully though, she’s somewhat intrigued. Well, the “deadly wedding” is a bit off putting, but other than that... Even if she  _ is  _ to be married, at least it wouldn’t be a match she would have to pretend to like for her parents’ sake. At least this way her discomfort could be justified. 

Still, she doesn’t look forward to marching to her probable death.

  
  


**CUPID**

Invisible, she watches the procession. It seems like some mix of wedding and funeral. Her mother asked her to be there for vengeance. Venus was enraged by the attention and offerings given to this girl, the mortal daughter of the heads of some company or another, much of which would usually have gone to Venus herself.

She doesn’t look all that evil from up where Cupid is. Definitely no longer enviable. There are tears on the girl’s face, but from her expression nobody would ever guess she was crying. And she was  _ hurting _ . Even all this distance away, Cupid could feel it. Grief, mourning. But also, strangely-- some sense of freedom, this splinter of light. A piece of gratitude in the girl’s heart mixed into the fear. 

Either way, she doesn’t deserve this terrible fate. Curse the hells, she felt sympathy for this stranger. No, worse;  _ affection _ . Curiosity. Cupid is loyal to her mother of course, it should not be mistaken, but she also isn’t cruel. She is as capable as anyone of recognising the unfairness of her mother’s request, and more capable than many to desire to choose the loving option.

Her arrows stay in her quiver. 

  
  


**PSYCHE**

She must have cried herself to sleep on that mountain after the procession left her all alone to await her fate, but she wakes up somewhere else entirely. She’s still on the ground, but it’s almost as comfortable as her own bed. There’s a pretty green canopy above her, with forest in every direction, but not in any sort of unsettling way. Sitting up and looking around, there are wildflowers of all colours. The whole place seems untouched by humanity, a haven of nature. Serene.

It’s as if all the fear left her when she was up on the mountain: It’s all back there, and now she’s left with peace. 

_ Wait, am I dead? _

Surely not. Well, it’d make sense, but no.  _ One thing at a time. Where am I? _

She gets up, picks a direction, and starts walking. Before long, she hears the sound of a gentle river and comes into a clearing. There’s a house, or perhaps a better word would be a cottage, right near the centre of the clearing. It’s beautiful. Homely. Also, probably exceedingly dangerous for a lone, lost person to approach. No more dangerous than waiting out in the woods until she starves, though. She steels herself to go over, but just as she’s about to make a move from the edge of the clearing--

“Don’t worry, you’re safe here.”

Psyche whirls around at that, less scared than she should be still. Before her, she finds… nobody.

“Who are you?” she asks the empty area behind her. The voice laughs.

“Can you keep a secret?” 

Is this person  _ teasing  _ her?

“I have nobody I’d confide in, but you have no promise of my silence until I know why you ask.”

The voice comes from close, almost too close, just behind her. “As you wish.”

Psyche startles, and turns again. This time the speaker is there, hands in denim jacket pockets, and gods-- she looks  _ cool.  _ Ruffled, soft looking bright pink hair. Double denim. Combat boots! There’s this devilish look on her face, conspiratorial. 

“Uh, hello,” she says, after a far too long pause. There’s no telling who this individual is or what she’s doing here. “Do you happen to have seen any flying, mischievous nuisances spreading chaos and change around here?”  _ Worth a shot _ . “Oh, I’m Psyche, by the way.”

The pink haired girl grins. “Pleasure to meet you, Psyche.” Bright white wings unfurl from behind her, and they seem to almost glow. She holds out a hand. “Cupid, at your service. Care to look around?”

Psyche takes it, and together they approach the new home, not a husband in sight.  


  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed (and that I get an okay grade xoxo)


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